Beginnings and Ends
by Resnic
Summary: Cyrodil lost an Emperor and gained a Hero. But Will the council really uphold their bargains? OR will they turn on their own people for the worst. long, one chapter.


The countess had left the chapel, leaving only Martin and the Nomad alone; Jaufree had strolled down the hallway to speak with the recruits.

The Nomad glared at Martin who swiftly met his gaze.

"You said you needed my judgment."

"Of course. Ever since I had seen you on that mountain side… I somehow knew I would see you again…but maybe its all just speculation.."

"You should not go."

"We went through this already. You know what I must do."

The nomad's green eyes glared even more fiercely than Martin had ever seen them before.

"If you go, you doom Cyrodill. Every time i- go in with someone, I'm the only one who comes back out. Every time."

"The perhaps the fates will be kind to us, then in the future."

"If you go in- you won't be coming out. I can't protect you in there. You don't understand."

"It is my duty."

"You are Emperor!" The Nomad growled, now flying into a rage; startling Martin as his booming voice echoed through the cavernous archways.

His teeth had gritted.

"I am still a part of Cyrodill! I will not cower while others perish! You will not change that!"

Silence.

The Nomad gently walked over to Martin, his armor softly clanking and his body almost cat like, shifted from side to side.

He stared at him. Piercing green eyes. Martin then saw the danger in them, the untamed beast that lied within. Unexpectedly, the nomad knelt to one knee and bowed his head, in a permanent genuflection. He looked up.

"No-no. Don't. Don't do this."

"I do not serve the empire… I but serve you… and your father."

"I do not want your obedience."

"I am your servant." A look of sincerity breached on Martin's kind face. The same as it had, the day the nomad remembered meeting him as that priest. It was what the stranger had admired so deeply in his Lord. The innocence and intent that was neither corrupt, not suppressed.

"You have done more for others in these past months than I have done in a lifetime. It is I, who should be kneeling."

He stood once more, yet staggered slightly, Martin catching a bit of his shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"I doubt you my friend."

"It's nothing!" he gritted. His temper was rising.

"Since the day we had met, you have returned with unbelievable speed and lack of complaint. You have taken no rest since this has begun. No man of sword, nor words can barrel through the trials we have given you without a wound…of one sort or another."

"I have to open the gate."

"You mean we."

The Nomad stopped in his tracks as Martin moved behind him.

"I will defend the outside of the gates while you are inside. They will flood the same if not more, as Kvatch did. But those men are willing men. You don't have to die a hero."

"Someone has to."

A pause.

"Who are you?"

The nomad didn't answer.

"Where do you come from?" Martin continued.

"I don't remember," He simply replied. "Your father found me in the imperial prison. That was the moment I acquired the amulet of kings.. and the knowledge of you… Make no mistake, you are the Emperor's son. The soul and flesh are unmistakably the same. Serve Cyrodill well. I dread, I will never see the day."

"I'll make sure of it, that you will."

"Hmph," He laughed. "Shall we dance with the dead?"

--

The Nomad entered through the broken doors of the temple shrine, where the skies were once rendered with blood. The dragon stood towering over the many visitors to the shrine, yet he was the only one kneeling at it's feet. Looking to the heavens, then down to the cracked earth he whispered to whoever would listen to his prayers. "By the Gods," he whispered, "I will see to it that you walk once more. I swear upon it." He finally stood after some time, began to push his way through the crowds of people. "I will find a way." He muttered. Their praises no longer meant anything to him, it didn't matter in the mind that had seen what they could not even imagine…then again, they never really meant anything to him. The day he had battled the Deadra back in through their doorways, shutting Oblivion, his heart had grown dark. He would find a way to bring Martin back. He swore on his life he would, and that's what he now would set out to do. He traveled to the only shrine he knew he could depend on for a divine response.

"Night mother, I call upon you for guidance. Please answer your listener."

At first the statue of lady luck did not answer but a thunderous voice soon reached his ears.

"what is it listener that is so grave, you should disturb my grave?"

"Forgive me Mother, but I have nowhere else to turn and I am in need of your guidance. The Gods do not reply but you do. I wish to return Martin Septum to this plane."

"This is very strange, one so quiet as you to request such a thing. You must desire this greatly."

"I do Mother."

Silence for a moment but the Nomad waited patiently, not a flinch was apparent.

"If you were not so exceptional, I would not oblige you. But what is your dark hearts desire? Revenge?"

"No. To restore the Empire and an old friend. The council has not bothered to even search for a new emperor and no one is more worthy than he. Necromancy must not do."

"Ah, a noble deed for an assassin. You are very complex my child. I agree that this Empire will fall soon enough without its pillar. If action is not taken, the dark brotherhood will fall with it, tainted once again with chaos and traitors. You are correct young one, Necromancy will not do. There is a sigil stone that you must obtain…"

"The gates are- "

"Closed yes, you saw to that listener, but there are other ways besides the amulet. You must travel to the Dragons shrine once more. There, proclaim out loud the intentions of your four fathers to him. Demand to be brought to the Great Tower- to retrieve Martins shell; The sigil stone. If his spirit chooses to return to this plane, he may. Call upon the Gods, the Deadra Prince, and your desired soul- and you will return to this land, possibly with your life."

"then I shall."

"You will have opposition child. Almost impossible odds to withstand when reaching the gates. Do not fight. Run if you cherish your life."

"Thank you Night Mother. I am surely in your debt."

"No listener. We are all in yours."

--

Martin Septum opened his eyes for the first time in a year, for the first time in his new life. The sky displaying a deep purple, was now star lit brilliantly with the moons above. How he had missed them. His eyes shifted around, feeling the cold of his body that seemed to quickly become a slight pain. He sat up, gazing at his body and cold, freezing hands. Feeling restrained, almost trapped, he determined however that nothing seemed to be broken. The numbness was caused by the snow he had found himself laying on though the place in the cold dark was unrecognizable. Martin slowly stood to his feet, wiping the snow from his body and looked around once more. "Where was he?" he thought to himself. It was incredibly familiar it seemed…Bruma… It was Bruma's air he was breathing atop of a mountain. A camp fire had been made and was still burning barely in the winter air though there was no sign of its creator. The cold was now getting the best of him.

He picked up the clothes he easily found in the tent across from him and dressed himself the best he could. The condition of the clothing surprised him, though plain, they were in incredible condition, as if someone had taken great care of them. Putting on the nord boots, black pants, and a black shirt, he found himself wondering how long he had been out… or even how he had gotten to Bruma. There was no way to tell since the dark covered everything within a mile of sight. Martin at the sound of footsteps behind him, swung around rapidly, startled. A black, already saddled horse had been standing by a great rock in the glow of the dying fire. It had been nuzzling what Martin thought had to be some mountain plants that animals were so fond of. Martin was just glad he didn't have to hike to civilization. However, when he neared the horse, it became uneasy and would have kicked Martin in the face if he hadn't moved in time. "Whoa there." He whispered. The horse neared the rock once again, neighing. Then Martin saw. There were no mountain plants on that rock but a man's body. Seemingly, it had been crashed upon it and now laid on his back, motionless. There was blood dripping from his outstretched, gloved hand which the horse had been nuzzling so affectionately. Martin climbed onto the rock to look over the body. "No.. It can't be…No!" That torn and broken body wearing dark apparel was none other than the Nomad.

"No! Please, no-Wake up!" He began to tap the smoked and cut face quickly in a frantic panic. The Nomads eyes began to open in the slightest bit and then closed again.

"By the Gods!" Martin yelled. He struck the poor soul strictly across the face, causing those vibrant green eyes to snap wide open. After a moment, the Nomad gave out a sudden gasp for air; coughing and turning on his side in tremendous pain. He gave out a cry of exhaustion and frustration as if caught in a horrible dream.

"You're alive! Thank the Nine Divines you're alive!"

The green eyes turned to Martin, displaying shock and disbelief.

"Martin…" he croaked.

"Yes my old friend?"

"I'm glad you decided to come back." He began to laugh. It was evident it hurt when he did but he couldn't help it, it appeared. Martin looked slightly puzzled. "Lets get you off this rock and in a warm bed." The black horse didn't even need to be led over but instead walked over to the Nomad, making it an easy mount for his shattered owner. It finally allowed Martin to mount afterward, grudgingly. Slowly but steadily, Martin made his way towards the Bruma city lights in the indiscernible darkness.

--

Along the snow hidden trail, they passed the trench field where the dooms day machine still laid, its orange eyes still afire and watchful. That was a glorious day Martin thought. "Glorious." He muttered. All those men had united under the Empire, under Martin. But none of it would have happened if it were not for the stranger who had come to him at Kvatch. The one who ventured without hesitation, alone, into the fiery jaws of Oblivion in search of him. In search of what he called, "my Emperor." Martin never thought of himself as one. Not even that day when he wore the dragon armor and the people cheered his name as if he were a hero. This he knew he was not, despite how often other assured him. He had done very little but collect the artifacts the Nomad had given him, he rallied the men only after the Nomad had killed the Oblivion gates to give them hope. It was the Nomad who had saved lives in Kvatch when the soldiers were in disarray and terror ran rampant. Martin then realized he was angry. Not because the Nomad had done more, but that he himself didn't deserve the attention…when the Nomad was creditless in all the eyes of others. They never cheered his name in Martin's shadow.

It was ridiculous he thought, how dedicated he was to Martin and they barely knew each other. Martin passed on.

Finally, the company had reached the towering gates of Bruma where a guard was standing at his post with a lantern held at his side.

"Halt there, Sir. There are no horses allowed inside the city walls, and I'm afraid I'll have to ask you what your business - "

"I haven't the time. You must let me pass or this dying man will pass from this world."

"Sir, the law- " the guard had raised the lantern in mid-sentence to the company and froze in his tracks. To anyone else, it could have seemed like the man had just been stabbed in the back by the look on his face.

"Im-…impossible!" he gaped. "I-Sire! Is it really you?"

"I am Martin Septim."

The guard was almost tripping over himself, trying to open the gate. Martin had figured it was because of the crazed, violently inclined horse they rode in on, but then again…that was Martin. He rode fiercely in through the gates, holding onto his unconscious friend. Entering the castle and riding straight into the lobby, he finally skidded to a halt. Many of the guards, startled, drew their swords at the abrupt entrance.

"I need aid!" he roared.

--

Of the two nights that were spent in the Bruma castle in a small room directly north of the lobby, neither Martin or the Nomad left the room during that time and only the physicians were seen going in and out. Not even the Countess entered until the following morning, knocking on her own bedroom door.

"Come in." a rough voice answered.

The door opened and the countess appeared. There was a combination of both joy and shock on her face.

"So it is true! You're alive! Gods be praised!" she said.

"I beg your pardon?" Martin asked.

"You.. you were gone for so long…we thought you were dead!"

Martin shrugged.

"After the deadra flooded the imperial city… you disappeared and Akatosh now stands in the temple in you memory! The guards said you saved Cyrodill that day!" Her eyes shifted to the man lying in the bed.

"Ah, yes. I remember this fellow. The Champion of Cyrodill! I have not seen him in sometime…He too disappeared weeks after."

"Champion?" Martin questioned.

"He was named top of the order after the incident, but he didn't seem pleased about it at all. I'm so happy you've returned Emperor! Thank you."

He simply nodded, not knowing what to say.

"Would you excuse us for a moment?" he asked her politely.

"Of course." She replied and exited quietly as the blankets began to stir. A groan was heard which made Martin smile in the slightest bit. The nomad slowly sat up, brushing his long brown hair backwards.

"Glad to have you back." Martin said. Those green eyes turned.

"How are you?" the Nomad asked.

"Me?" Martin laughed, "I wasn't the one smashed against a rock."

His eyes were then down casted. He got up and slowly dressed himself in his dark apparel. His attention turned to Martin.

"What is it?" Martin asked.

"Those clothes..." the Nomad said slowly.

"Yes I took them from the tent, I had nothing else to wear so I hope you don't- "

"No." the Nomad interrupted. His voice was soft. "No…they suit you. They were not mine to begin with."

"Whose then?"

the Nomad paused briefly and grabbing the remainder of his things and simply replied, "An old friend who won't be needing them anymore. I'm sure he would have wanted you to keep them." After completely suiting up and made his way to the door. "We must go." He then said.

"why so soon? You still are-"

"No. We must restore you to the crown before that imbecile establishes a new creed. Please come."

Martin glared in confusion.

"Why are you so angry?"

"I'm not. But I have gone long enough without an emperor. Now please."

Without further question, Martin traveled through the door that was opened for him. There outside that door were at least 100 men and women; blades, Royalty, even Imperial Guards that had apparently traveled to Bruma out of hearing a simple rumor. The 17 blades knelt along the corridor, as did the Bruma and Imperial guards, all in a strong descending wave. Martin looked at the Nomad who was smiling at him as he knelt himself, by the door.

They had found the Nomad's horse still in the lobby, now eating the flowers in the garden. It made the Nomad grin. Apparently no one had dared go near the terribly homicidal horse during their stay. The Imperial guard in the corner dared not move though looked terrified even more when the stranger easily approached it. Immediately it began to nuzzle its owner. Once the Nomad mounted, Martin was approached by a crowd of people; one of them being a steward of the court.

"My Lord, let me fetch you both some more suitable clothing." Almost instantly, the mounted stranger exited the hall without a word, as if offended by the very gesture.

About half an hour had passed when Martin, newly changed into the emperors robes, found the horseman waiting by the torches outside the castle walls.

"Will you be safe to travel alone?" the Horseman asked., still staring into the reddening horizon.

"You will not lead the way?"

The Nomad was silent. Martin approached closer.

"How is it I am here?" he asked.

This captures the Nomad's attention for a brief second.

"You wanted to be."

"My friend, you were crashed on the rocks- surely some great ordeal has passed that I have missed."

The nomad shook his head.

"All you need to know," he said "is that you are alive. The rest lies in your blood."

"What lies in yours then?" he laughed, folding his arms.

The Stranger gave a weak smile that looked like it hurt.

"Come now. You have grown grave since I have last seen you. If anyone should be at my side in the Imperial City, I wish it to be you. Silent you may be, but you are true. Pure. Please come with me. Wear the Dragon Armor they have forged for you. Be proud of what you have done. I have been told you wear your deeds with shame."

"Much has passed and gone my Lord."

"Please, Martin." The Emperor insisted.

"Martin then. When I met you in Kvatch, I knew you were the one. My life has been made to serve."

"You are too humble! Your self value is unjust. I beg of you to come. Stay in the Imperial Palace with me. You will sit at my side."

Silence.

"Martin. I will consider your proposal- But you must promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"Your principles will never fade, nor your dedication to this land. If you do fade, I will leave. And your kingdom will fall."

Martin seemed somewhat taken aback by the request.

"So harsh! I would never do such a thing-nor let my kingdom fall."

"I hope so: you must understand me. I do not threaten you my Lord. I would never dare."

"I understand. Then you will come?"

The Nomad nodded. "On the third day I will enter your city- perhaps even with a gift. I owe my allegiance to someone first. I should however be there when you enter the city."

May I ask you something?"

"King need not ask."

"What is your name?"

"If only I knew myself."

"You mean you remember nothing?

'"If I did, would it matter?"

"I suppose not. It is just that, the man I ask to be on my right hand side, I know nothing of.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then, my name is not important. It is but a title, and I care not for them."

"You say true."

"Then I will see you in three days."

"May the Gods protect you."

--

--

Our recruits have doubled in the last month." His speaker said.

"The night mother has been kind."

"Indeed." The Nomad mumbled while sitting in the corner table, watching the Guardian pace through the hall.

"Should we appoint some of them to fill the traditional ranks, Listener?"

"Gods no!" he laughed. She smiled as well.

"Who are the newcomers?"

"Andres Calvitai- Vvarenfell, Cassius from Morrowind, and Bermes from the Black Marsh. All await your orders."

He had been playing with the skull on the center of the table.

"Sir?"

"You understand that all contracts regarding the Imperial throne, must pass through me, correct?"

"I will see to it, though may I ask why?"

"The Night mother agrees that for now, it is in the best interest of the Brotherhood to restore the throne and power to the Empire. All other exploitations by all means are fine."

"I understand. They have been waiting to meet you sir."

"What do you think of me, Aldanine?"

"My Lord?"

"In all honestly, I wish to know."

She paused for a moment in thought. Many if asked would give a generic answer in fear of being killed. She knew however, he would know the truth…and a lie.

"I believe you are here for a reason. And for the Night Mother to choose you personally, proves you are more than worthy. You are like none I have seen here. Your heart as of recent, is black, but not pitch, yet you kill and give life without hesitation. It is obvious that your personal goals do not corrupt how you choose your decisions. I do not know, only that you are meant to be here, in the present."

"Thank you, for your honesty."

"Sir?"

He looked up and she noticed that even in the dim lights of the glowing candles, he looked tired for the first time in ages.

"Who was your mentor?"

His stare returned to his skull on the table, now lifting it to her view.

"His name was Vincent."

--

Two days of travel passed and Martin had reached the city where lines of people flooded the street corners. They marched on their horses with decorative banners and about 50 imperial soldiers rode in front and behind them as they made their way towards the palace. The white petals of confetti rained as the sun shown through the clouds.

It was a beautiful day to be sure, though Martin's feeling of discomfort could not even begin to be described. He knew nothing of being Emperor, and the entire fate of the people were about to fall into his hands. But he would keep going towards the palace. He had made a promise and he was going to full fill it. Martin now understood why the Nomad had not come yet. The attention was stifling and suffocating. It was more of a trap than liberation. Jaufree rode along side him with a very comforting expression on his face that ensured Martin, that all was how it was meant to be. He personally had only seen the palace from afar on the Great Road, but up close, now standing on its marble stairs, it's beauty was evident and breathtaking. The towering glory of his father's rule stood before him, larger than life itself it seemed. The elder council was waiting for Martin on its front steps.

--

break

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"My Lord! For your own protection, we mustn't allow you to- "

"I will not tolerate this! Let me through!"

Martin pushed his way forward where he saw the Nomad strapped to a chair. He had a bruise on the right of his cheek and a deep scarring cut stretching across his eyebrow. He looked straight into the void with a horrifying calmness.

"Is this true what they say? It cannot be- "

No response was made in return and Martin knew why.

"everyone, leave at once."

"But - My Lord.."

"Now!" he roared. It was the first time he had given such a demanding command that actually made the hair on their necks stand. No one questioned further but instead immediately left the room in silence and dismay.

Martin looked down at the stranger, for truly, that was what he was.

"Speak the truth-Servant. Are you what they claim? Did you send that assassin?!"

Those dangerous vexing eyes rolled up to meet his own.

"They dare accuse me of such a treachery they themselves dare to commit!" he gritted.

"Then explain yourself!"

"I would not send a soul living nor dead to bring harm to the Empire under your hand. It is both ridiculous and ABSURD!" yelled he. "I am the dark hand, I admit that in fact. But that assassin is not of my doing- "

"He wears your seal! You would allow-"

"I would have his HEAD on a platter if I were not bound to this very chair!" he growled.

"You are a murderer." Martin said almost under his breath.

"Amongst others? No." he replied.

"Do you honestly believe that instability and chaos is what I desire?...you have been killed a count of 13 times if I did not intercept them…" he whipered, ashamed of relaying the information to him.

Martin moved closer.

"Why… when I had thought so highly of you-" he mumbled. He leaned up against the nearest pillar for support.

"I entered the jaws of Hell for you. You may not know my birthplace, but you know my soul. I would not murder without reason. I would not kill my only friend."

Martin's eyes were searching. The Nomad continued.

"Do you not have a dark past ? Did you not salvage its remains for good? Look at me. I have done everything you have asked of me. Please."

Martin did. And with it, he had seen truth and enlightenment. He moved to the back of the chair and cut the bondages that began to make the Nomad's wrists bleed.

He then dropped the knife and leaned against the window. The Nomad rubbed his wrists painfully.

"Why?" Martin asked.

"Pardon?"

"Why do you dedicate yourself to me? Why do you plague me with such problems?"

"If you do not want my company, I will leave. I will make it so that you will not hear my name or see my face ever again. I will do this for you, if you wish it."

"Then where would I be. I have come all this way-from a priest to an Emperor and at what costs, I do not know. Though you have been there to guide me since."

The Nomad was silent.

"Sometimes I wonder if things were as difficult for my Father."

Martin then realized, the Nomad had shifted through the room soundlessly. He had picked up his bow, arrows, and sword that he had previously been stripped of so violently, and now began to walk out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Martin asked, with a rush of panic.

"Goodbye."

"No!"

"I am hindering your progress."

"Do not. This is I order you!"

He stopped in his tracks.

"You are changing," The Nomad replied in a hoarse whisper. "and not for the better. Guide well."

Before Martin could react, the Nomad was gone, along with the assassin through the window.

--

"Listener! You have returned!"

"Quiet! He yelled.

The Speaker fell silent immediately with fear and widened eyes. This was the first time she had seen him so enraged, as if a different person entirely.

He threw the half dead assassin into the corner chair where his head dropped back. The Nomad strided over to the Speaker so close, their faces were inches apart.

"Tell me NOW where that contract CAME from! I TOLD you NO IMPERIAL CONTRACTS!"

He was shouting. The other members began to surface and hide in the back where they could still see. His eyes were fierce and piercing, his nose sneered with lips drawn back like some sort of wild animal, canines unusually extended.

Li-Listener! I did not give him any! I swear to Sithis!" He thrashed around and grabbed the assassin's head, lifting it up.

"Who was it-" All he got were incoherent sounds of panic.

"Who was it!? I swear I will cut out your eyes!"

He drew his dagger from his left thigh and placed it barely touching the man's retina.

The image this created was that of a horrifying one. Gasps were heard from behind him. They had heard that a Listener was to be feared, but they had no idea how vicious one could be.

"Do not doubt. You will suffer."

"I don't know who it was!" the assassin suddenly screamed. He was sweating and his words were so rapid, they meshed together.

"It was dark out! They just handed me money and a note in the Elven district of the imperial city! I swear to you! It's true!" He screamed and began to cry.

The Nomad stared deeply for a moment and then returned the knife to its sheaf. He turned to the speaker.

"Deal with this animal and make sure a lesson is taught."

She frantically nodded.

"I'll be in my quarters." He said and rushed out through the doors, out of sight.

--

Weeks passed as Martin sat in what he thought as his Father's throne. The palace representer entered and gracefully bowed; his nose to the floor. Then rising, approached his emperor.

"My Lord."

"How goes the search? Tell me it is good news you bring."

"My Lord , we're doing all we can but to no prevail.

All we find are rumors and beggars at every corner. It is said that the Countess of Cheydenhal knows of the Brotherhood's whereabouts but denies is completely. I'm afraid it's a cold trail my Lord. We've arrested several men but not the one you seek."

"Then look harder!" he yelled crossly, getting up.

"My Lord."

"I want him found alive."

"Yes my Lord, but may I ask of why you require him? He is affiliated with several crime syndicates and as it is felonies are growing and there is less man power to control it."

Instead of answering he merely turned to him and said, "do not return until you have him in this castle."

He bowed regretfully and took his leave quickly.

--

"Listener?" a female voice called out. She entered the old room on the second floor where she found him sitting at the desk to the right in the corner of the room next to the stone slab.

His head lay resting heavily on his folded arms as she repeated his name for the second time, approaching quietly and cautiously.

"Listener- Are you alright?" It was Aldanine who looked both worried and confused.

I'm sorry." He said most apologetically, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips.

"Have you come to ensure I haven't died?"

She nodded. "Three days is along time, Listener."

He stood as she entered but his knees suddenly gave way under him causing her to rush forward and catch him, helping him back to his seat.

He rubbed his eyebrow with a shaking hand that was no longer shadowed by the Black Hand's hood. She saw that he was beautiful and dangerous. One rare and sly, as he had always been.

He gestured to the seat in front of him but she in turn knelt next to him and ran her hand through his hair, the other grabbing his hand. He was very tired and stress was overcoming him. She could see it very clearly.

"It is not your fault." She said.

"What?" he gazed up, as if not hearing her correctly.

"The Emperor. He simply needs you."

"He is changed."

"He's scared, nothing more."

He pulled out several parchments and slapped them on the table in front of her. They all had his face on them and an enormous bounty below.

"These are on every street corner. He has made it impossible for me to even live!" he gritted.

She was silent, just staring at him.

He finally then looked at her with searching eyes.

"What shall I do? Tell me."

"Kilknil met with a man tonight who ordered an Imperial contract."

"Let him."

"You must go back. It was the Elder Council."

"What?"

"They want him dead, Demetrius. He is too good hearted to notice, or even to act."

"If I go back there, I'll never get out." He said hopelessly.

"Ill never be free." He whispered.

She wrapped her arms around his chest and placed his head on her shoulder.

She knew what he meant, and what he didn't.

Ever since she had met him, he had always been quiet, modest, and noble. He loathed the attention from the members and he mentioned to her on previous occasions when they were seldom alone, how much he hated the praise for closing the gates. To him, freedom was detachment. No title, no legacy, no spotlight. She knew he never intended any of this. He joined the Brotherhood for shelter, the Fighters guild for pay, and closed the gates as a favor to an old friend who he barely knew. If he went back, he would only be adding to his legends, he would be stuck in spotlight and no longer could he ride over the great hills of Tamriel as he pleased. Only known as a man traveling the wind. Often he would joke to the younger members when the Oblivion crisis was raised in conversation, about how he wished he could have stayed inside the gates, rather than outside of them. The Speaker saw the Listener for what he was,

He was a myth, he was the deceased and the living, and he was a tortured man who fell from grace the moment the Gods had created him. Yet still did their bidding without question.

She stroked the back of his head.

"You were made for this." She whispered.

He said nothing but only preferring to drown in her warm embrace.

"You must go back. For our future."

"I have none."

She lifted his chin and looked at him.

"You do."

He couldn't stand it anymore. He grabbed her gently from behind and kissed her eagerly, breathlessly. The screaming inside of him eased and instead filled with rapture one feels when they encounter love for the first time. His heart seamed to swell until finally he drew back to gaze at her.

"I will come back. He said. "I will. I promise you."

She simply nodded with a sad smile on her face. "I know."

--

"Sire!" the court representative burst through the double doors to the main thrown room. Martin still, would not sit in it, but to the side where a wooden chair and a long wooden table extended, candles covering its surface, as well as thick, old books. He stood rapidly, from his seat with his hands placed on the table, looking alarmed. "Sire! They've found him!"

"Where?"

"He meant to destroy himself, on a small patch of land to the lower west, by the sea! Luckily, a group of bandits unarmed him and are now holding him for the bounty we raised."

"Surely you did not leave him alone with those vagabonds!" Martin asked,

"We sent two battle mages down to supervise. They're awaiting your orders."

Martin immediately closed the book in front of him, and stood straight. "Take me to him."

--

The sun was nearly setting on the coast, where the usually cold blue water had turned a deep pink, causing the slaughter fish to sink deeper down into the depths for the coming night. The wind had ceased completely, yet the trees still swayed as if speaking of an approaching storm. It was a beautiful sunset, as it always was in Tamriel. A man sat on a worn and broken white stone, so that his arms rested loosely on his lap, a leg out stretched, another lengthening back, looking towards the setting sun. The doom stones beginning to burn their deep red, the petals from the Kiner Tree behind him, began to fall. He turned to his left at approaching footsteps. Seeing who it was, he had rather looked on once again. Martin stood and stared at the scene for a moment. There was the man who had brought him back and the one who tried to escape from all his deeds… as if wanting to punish himself for all the good he had given the world. He approached the battlemage that stood on his side and in a whisper he spoke. "I want these men on the land across the bay. Have you taken his weapons?" he asked.

"Yes my lord. Two swords and a bow."

"Is it true what I have heard?"

"Yes my Lord. They recounted it to me upon my arrival, and I saw with my own eyes, the Listener try and grab one of their daggers."

"To attack?"

"No." he replied.

"And do not call him that." Martin ordered.

"But Sire, is he not the Listener of your assassins?"

"You have my orders. Now go, and be speedy. If I need assistance, I shall let you know." Martin shrugged. The BattleMage began to walk past him, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"May i?" Martin asked. The Battle mage offered up the weapons, where Martin took the long Umbra sword, into both his hands. The bodyguards moved out on signal, escorting the riotous bandits along with them. All was silent but the water rippling and the wet gravel beneath his feet. He approached, looking at the sword in his hands, and sat down on the field grass to the nomad's side.

"This is a beautiful sword... Where did you find it?"

The Nomad was silent and Martin was sure he would not answer. He continued to look onwards over the hills where the tower of the imperial city could still be seen in the sky.

"It was a gift." He said in response quietly.

Martin stared up at him.

"Forgive me. I beg of you. I have made many poor decisions."

The nomad shook his head.

"You have done nothing erroneous, Martin," he said.

"I would never believe it." Martin said smiling. He laid the sword in his own lap and spoke again. "Now why would a man with so much, want to strip himself of it? You have a death wish?"

"Yes."

Martin nodded.

"If a man is given rule over an entire kingdom, why would he seek to rid himself of it?" asked the Nomad.

"You are truly difficult, my friend. Why won't you help me understand?"

"The only reason why I am here right now is to tell you a truth."

"Pray, tell me."

"The council is trying to kill you."

Martin looked alarmed.

"Are you so certain… They have treated me with- "

"You are too kind." The Nomad said, cutting off Martin, now looking at him with his dangerous, green eyes.

"You are too kind Martin to understand. I have had multiple sources of information that tell me such things. They do not hint. They point."

"Do you have proof?"

"Not the kind we can say is legible, shall we..."

"What should I do?"

"We are two different people, Martin. I know not."

They were both quiet for a time, each lost in their own thoughts.

"May I have my sword back?" The Nomad asked.

"If you swear you will not run yourself through..."

He nodded. Martin gently handed it to him.

"Why would you want to end your life? After all the things you've done…"

"I found it prudent to end everything before I do something horrible."

"Is there something you wish to tell me?"

"…No… I just… feel like.. I'm losing control."

He rubbed his face with his left hand. For the first time, he looked tired to Martin.

"There will always be someone younger, someone to carry on the good and the bad. I believe my story is finished."

"That's where you are wrong." Martin said suddenly. "With so much good you have committed, how could you possibly think you could do so much damage in its place?"

With a pause, his answer came. " I'm not all that I seem, Martin. This place is changing, and everyone in it. I've grown darker since your return here and I pray it won't overtake me."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, you're meaning."

The Nomad continued to look farther into the distance, rubbing his temple.

"May I leave?" He asked Martin.

"Do you have pressing matters to attend to? I have been searching for you for 5 days now, and once I find you, you try to destroy yourself, and you think I should let you leave? ..Are you alright?"

The Nomad was now bearing down on the sides of his head with his fingers, his lips drawn back with a clenched jaw.

"I'm fine.." he muttered, but the image of this was challenging his words. He fell to the ground, one hand pressing into the dark, wet gravel, as Martin rushed over him.

"What's wrong?"

"I have to go. I need to talk to her."

"Who?"

" mother…why…"

"Stay with me. Krilus! Over here!" bellowed Martin to the battlemage waiting across the water who was speaking to one the bandits. Immediately, his attention was gained and half drawing his sword, he began to rush over, through the water.

"I can't…." The nomad shuttered as his body began to break down; every muscle trembling and giving way. He staggered on his hands, to grab the sword he had dropped. Martin seeing this kicked it swiftly beyond all reach. Rapidly, The Nomad collapsed on his side, motionless and unconscious.

"Sire?" It was the battlemage, who had now made his way onto the shore, his greaves dripping.

"Quickly. Get your men and help me take him back to the castle. Something is seriously amiss. Give him all the medical care we have and let none of the council members near him. Understood?"

"Yes, My Lord. Right away."

--

They had returned to the Imperial city where Martin poured over his old books to no avail.

--

"Night Mother! I call upon you as a man and not as an emperor of Cyrodil. Please respond. Your servant is in peril."

That thunderous voice the Nomad had heard so many times spoke from the statue of Bravil.

"You are wise emperor and modest to arrive yourself. Though I do not answer requests from the goodhearted, you are still Emperor and I have a vast respect for your ancestors' line. What is it that you speak of?"

"Your listener has fallen into my hands, my Lady. Collapsed while regarding your name. He is in a torturous state and i would insist on knowing why." He replied.

"Why do you ask for my assistance and not another divine?"

"He muttered your name, and has held council with you before."

"You are astute, Martin. Yes he has many times. But after you have hunted him for so long, now you look to save him from the damage you have committed? Driving him into hiding, just to live free…"

Martin grew red with shame.

"I am not proud of how I have acted, and i look to reform it by saving a friend's life."

"Indeed, as he did the same. Your friend has become a victim of the Deadra. A Bargain he made some time ago."

"A bargain? Surely he would never- "

"Ah, but he did, Martin. Little do you remember of the past, and that is the key to your present situation. Shall I recount it for you then? Refresh your lost memory?" she asked, her voice giving a feeling of joy in his growing discomfort. She continued on in a slower, but saddened mode.

"He is my listener to be sure, one the great ones of your time, yet many do not realize it. When the dragon fire was broken and you did cast Dagothur back into his fires, you were taken as well. The Nomad searched for an entire year, searching for a way to bring you back. He knew you did not die of a natural cause, though an impeccably stupid one."

"Explain…please.

"Oh how little you know of the sacrifices he has made for you Martin. He came to me, asking for aid, he who asks for nothing, so I assisted him in his exploration. He refused to raise you through necromancy, so I sent him along his path with a warning.. Dear Martin, he traveled once more to the plain of Oblivion, to the very core, in order to retrieve your soul from the Sigil Stone in the dark tower."

"He has had such experience before…" Martin murmured lowly, unsure of himself, and listening careful to the story.

"Not like this and he was forewarned of it. He made his way through thousands of Dremora, Martin, where they shredded and mangled his body until he reached the zenith of your prison by some great fortitude. He called upon the Deadra Lord and yourself, taking the stone from its place. Though you both were returned to Cyrodil, he has promised himself to the Deadra Lord, primed already to perfection, he will soon become a Nighlith. And you very well know what that is, don't you, Martin. Your old friend long ago, tried to become one when you both were vagrant and spiteful…though he failed miserably, in his attempt."

Martin stood there dumbstruck on his knees, looking to the ground, devastated and mouth agape.

"and that is why he tried to kill himself…"

"Indeed. Though by some miracle, you halted the process. I would be greatly disappointed to lose him as my servant."

Martin looked up desperately at the glittering statue in the middle of the square.

"What can I do?"

"There is nothing to my knowledge. He is strong however, Martin. He may yet still battle it, to a degree. It has proven to be beneficial in his line of work."

"Why did he not tell me?"

"He was mortified and suspected that you would feel indebted to him."

"Did he tell you this?"

"My dear Emperor, he tells me nothing. I need only to search his heart."

"Is there someone I may contact for aid, if I should need it? An insight?"

"Aldenine will aid you if you so wish it. I will send her to you at the Palace."

"Thank you, night mother."

--

"The beast inside him has always been there." Aldenine answered Martin.

"It is destroying him!" he whispered fiercely.

"I love him, for what he is!" she spat back.

Martin paused and looked at her. "He will become a Nighlith."

"He may… but he is not like other men."

Martin remembered his friend on that night… and how it had destroyed him. The very ritual spell tearing him to shreds just by the strength of the light. He had never heard of such a thing as the Nighlith before his friend, Jaquel had researched it through several ancient books he had stolen from the eastern temple in the hills. He has explained the whole process to Martin who in his young years, listened eagerly and breathlessly. Once hearing what the thing was, he advised Jaquel not to continue. Fearing and well-knowing that it would not end well.

"You said the Lord must hand pick the man…"

"Once he sees my honor and keenness, he would see there is no other man more suitable! Don't you notice! We could rule this entire plain, Martin! All the riches in the world would be ours!..."

Martin shook his head from the memory.

"He is not like other men.. But still… we cannot be too cautious, Aldenine, if we wish to save everyone on this plain."

"I understand."

"I will go check on him. If you wish to stay here, you may do so as long as needed."

"Thank you."

--

Martin did indeed travel up to the tower where he met the four guards stationed in front of the double doors, all looking charily around, not knowing quite what or what they were guarding. Yet with a single word, they opened the doors, to allow Martin's entrance, closing them, as he passed within.

The Nomad sat on his bed, simply examining his hands, when he looked up to find his new visitor.

"My Lord."

"Why did you not tell me?" Martin bellowed, not caring if the guards outside would hear him or not. The Nomad was wide eyed for the first time, at his friend's behavior.

" If this is about my collapsing…"

"What? Just a wound? Exhaustion? " Martin said sharply. The nomad grew more hesitant and said nothing, turning his face.

"Why did you not tell me, you brought me back from the depths, or that you bargained with yourself to the Daedra Lord? Did you forget? Because I know how easy that is to do!" he said sarcastically in a whisper. The Nomad said nothing, but dropped his eyes, and lent over the side of the bed.

"Look at me!" he forced.

It was not immediate, but the Nomad's eyes rose to meet his and Martin then saw, the change that he had so feared.

"My, God. Why?" Martin sighed.

Those beautiful yet startling green eyes that were uniquely his were now a fuse of burning red and orange around the dark pupils. His slightly opened mouth showed the dreaded, extended canines, which if engaged in conversation, would play trickery on the mind and memory; revealed and concealed in speech, leaving the mind uncertain of what it had seen only seconds before.

"I had to." He said, clenching his fist in his other hand.

Martin, still staring, sat down in the chair across from him.

"This plain would have been closed forever from the Deadra…"

"But it is not closed from men. What is an empire, without an emperor…"

"You didn't have to do such an asinine thing."

"How did you find out?" The Nomad asked.

"Your great patron was kind enough to recall her instructions she gave you."

The Nomad's eyes dropped once more. "It was the only service I could render for you... You won't need to worry any longer. I'm going to stop fighting soon."

"Stop fighting? What, what do you mean?"

The Nomad shook his head in a shrug.

"I'll let it take me, as it has now. I made an agreement, and I am weary of suspending its attacks."

"You mustn't!"

"Why not?" he asked. He lifted up his right hand in front of him. Gently and suddenly, as if rapid vegetation began to weave its way over his flesh, the flaming colors of black and red Deadra armor began to climb and encase his hand, as he watched with perfect calmness.

"Don't!" Martin yelled, grabbing his wrist with great force, as if meaning to strangle it.

It stopped.

"You are mad! It's taking you over; else you would never think this way!"

"When have you truly ever known me, Martin? I brought you your Deadra artifacts, I slaughtered a few men to bring you to the Blades and then to get you into the city…but when have you actually known me? I have no past, no name but those they give me."

"No…Every testimony-"

"Was an observer, a philosopher? Some fan at the Arena?" he said curtly. The hand Martin still grasped continued then to extend its metallic blackness up his forearm slowly but steadily.

"Stop this- you closed the gates and saved millions!"

"While searching for Sigil stones." He continued. "I've murdered entire families, Martin. Now how does that stand with my reputation?" The blackness began to crawl up his arm even further. It began to sizzle under Martin's hand. It was burning him, the black essence turning a deep scarlet, until Martin was forced to withdraw his hand in pain.

"You saved my life on more than one account!" Martin gritted, distressed at the image. He would lose him forever, if the blackness overtook him. He was letting it. The red carvings began to mold over the armored limb; its delicate design and purpose defining itself.

There was a sudden noise coming from outside the double doors that sounded too much like a struggle. Seconds later, the door pushed open and was slammed shut, revealing a scraped Aldenine, locking the dead bolt from its inside. Seeing the scene, she rushed over to the bed and grabbed his arm with all her might, putting her other around his shoulders.

"No-!Don't you dare!" She removed her hand quickly and ran her hand over his cheek, forcing his eyes to stare into hers. "Look at me!"

He did.

"Why?" he whispered. For the first time, Martin could see the tears developing in his eyes. "Why can't I just go?" he asked her softly.

"Because I love you." She whispered back. "Fight back…If you let it take you, … you may never come back again. You promised… You promised you would help Martin, and you promised you would come back."

He looked down again as if in thought.

"I love you." He said, and then looked up at Martin. "I'm sorry." For that moment, Martin could have sworn the brilliant green of his eyes filtered through once more. But before any warning was apparent, the Nomad stood and in the counting seconds, the armor swallowed him from heel to head. It's clanking jagged points biding as if magic; fastening shut every inch of his body, until it was finished. The edges and woven metallic vegetation covered him entirely except for his eyes and upper forehead, letting his dark brown hair fall over, flawlessly. Indeed, the armor had been made for him. Was him. He examined his hands in front of him, calmly turning his palms over in the glove fitted wear. His green eyes filtered in and he fell to his knees once more, arms hanging loosely at his sides. It was breathing heavily. Surges of energy were racing up his back, each making him stagger. With one large shake of the mane, the room stood still. His transformation had stopped. His heart raced. Martin stood stock still in awe; gazing at the legendary form. A Nighlith. The right hand servant of the Deadra Lord himself. Elected and transformed into a machine; created for the simple purpose of destruction and seige. The supposed end of man.

Despite the obvious pain he was in, the Nomad continued to examine himself with bewilderment.

"Is he still with us? What should we do?" Aldenine's whispers could be heard next to Martin. She was clutching him. Martin approached cautiously and bent down. "Friend, are you still with us?"

A few second he was sure there would be no response but then those green eyes met his and a rush, no, a tidal wave of joy made his heart leap. "By the Gods! How did you survive?!"

The Nomad stood, cautiously and walked towards the window, stepping onto its ledge.

"Wait... what are you doing? Don't!"

The was the sound of cracking wood from outside the strong double doors behind them. All glances turned. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion. The splinters in large stakes flew from the door and its bindings. They exploded open with 10 guards behind them, swords, bows, axes, unsheathed. They clamored through in a mad dash to what they thought was the emperor's aid. An archer, pulled his arrow back; his keen eye spotting the devil standing in the room. The Deadra... The Demon. He pulled back, and with the skill of the Empire, released faithfully. Martin saw it's feathers glide through the shafts of light, its shadow traveling across towards its unsuspecting target. Martin yelled out as the guards grabbed onto him, but his efforts and his cries were muted as he watched the arrow twist and drive through the Nomad's chest.

His face, the once pleasant, and sincere face, now was emotionless, as he stood, holding onto the side of the stone window. He slowly looked down at the arrow; his left hand hovering over it, almost not daring to touch it. He raised his head to the guard with a blankness. Martin still screamed and fought against the guards who were trying to restrain him, save him from the devil. The devil who now, staggered, breathlessly backwards, fell out of the window. Aldenine broke from the men and rushed towards the window where she saw her beloved figure, fall.

He was plummeting to the warm earth below. Everyman would be granted death. He hit the ground. Aldenine half expected him to stir yet he did not. He was motionless and spreadeagled over the fallen leaves and petals on the ground. She was in shock. They were grabbing her, forcing her away from the window; from the site she wished she never saw. He was dead. And she would never have him again.

"what are you doing?"

"Sire, I wish this was not the case, but the Council has ordered for us to detain you under Hadreon's rule and to take the necessary precautions with anyone who interferes. It is not my wish Sire, but our Captain was already killed for disobeying orders."

"what?"

"Please Sire."

"This is an outrage."

"I am sorry. Would you like to hear the charges?"

"Undoubtedly!"

"You are held accountable for conspiring with the deadra against the Empire of Cyrodill. Hence forth, you will be tried and convicted as seen fit by the Council. Until then you will be detained."

"Why would I conspire against myself!"

"Sire, I do not know." The guard turned to the others. His tone was low and saddened, as if the very words were killing him inside.

"Please escort the Emperor to his cell... and dispose of the other.. as ordered by the High Council."

They grabbed both Aldenine and Martin and lead them in two separate directions. Martin held his head high and was silent. Aldenine fought the entire way to her very end.

* * *

It was a cold night in the hay covered cell Martin spent his time in. There, he passed the time by thinking of all the wrongs he had ever committed, and everything he had failed to do. His friend had fallen to his death this time, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. If only he had listened to him the day before... he had tried to tell Martin to leave him alone, tried to tell him that Council was plotting against him. But he didn't listen.

The following morning, Charselin entered the cell, as martin awoke from his nap against the wall.

"Your female friend caused us more trouble than we originally expected."

"You bastard."

"ah, but Martin, I am surprised you did not see this sooner! At times, we thought you would have found us out and then executed us! But alas..." He gestured around them both.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why would we not? We certainly thought once your father was assassinated, we would be able to rule the empire for centuries! But that parasite brought you here.. and that changed everything for a second time. We thought he would have been content with receiving dragon armor and leaving the rest as it laid but apparently... Fortunately as I have heard, he took a long tumble outside the window.. pity, yes?... did you love him?"

Martin was at a loss for words. The hate and anger seemed to be exploding in his head yet no words he could utter, would describe it. No word in existence.

"We think a bear might have dragged off the body..there was certainly enough blood."

A cruel smile extended over his face. He was getting a sick pleasure over this. And the look of Martin's horrified face.

Now there is no one to stand in our way, but you... and by the looks of things...well."

"What will happen next."

"We've been debating on how to portray you publicly, after your death for treason...burnt, strangled, fillet..."

"... The people will overthrow you."

"Ah but, you see, we have just saved them from tyranny, Martin. From the jaws of Oblivion themselves!... That gratitude will last for years. Betrayal is not easily overcome."

A continuous vibration traveled through the stone floors and up the two men's feet, as it had subtly been for more than 20 minutes now and growing stronger.

"What is that..." Charselin whispered more to himself rather than anyone around him. He paces over to the window in an impatient fashion as did Martin through his cell window. There, up the stony path that stretched towards the castle walls,was a single Imperial soldier, running; sprinting and tripping over himself senselessly, looking back as if the devil was riding on his tail.

"What in the Gods..." He turned to the guard behind him and ordered, "Get me that imbecile immediately!"

But Martin could see, what he was running from. He could see the vibrations for what they really were. And they were just outside the gate. He rubbed his eyes to make sure it wasn't a hallucination. It wasn't. The growing noise was approaching as well as the fiery mass.

"Take another look." Martin said, Charselin strode over once more. This time, he stopped.

"There, is your opposition."

Over 10 thousand foot soldiers were at the gates of Tamriel. Seemingly, all Deadra, and in perfect formation. Charselin's mouth sagged. He grabbed Martin by the throat and shook him. "What is this!? Tell me!"

"I haven't the slightest idea! Though it suits you very well for what you have done."

* * *

"Oh shut up!... I bet they have come for you! Yes! It must be! Well we will give you away and make peace. GUARDS! Bound him and have him ready in the lobby! We shall meet them!"

They met on the bottom floor of the tower where the breathless soldier was muttering to himself and asking.. pleading to be saved, but no one listened. On one side of his face, his skin appeared red and branded.. Martin was hit every time he began to speak but there was no need to. He noticed the sign etched into the man's face. It was the sign of the brotherhood. It would scar in the years to come. Clearly.. and never to be forgotten.

"It appears, they have made some friends." Martin whispered, grinning. He did not care what would happen to himself but only that Charselin did not easily deal with his current situation. The sound of their staffs and swords clamored within a single heart beat. Pumping as if it were, rage into the streams of soldiers, just waiting to enter. To be lead in. Martin was forced to approach the gates as people screamed and hid behind windows, doors, even on rooftops to view what was about to occur. They had all felt betrayed by their emperor. What the counsel had said appeared to be true. Here the deadra were, to tear and burn their city to ashes. And now... they would take him, swallow him in their overwhelming mass. One of the guards, kicked him forward, causing him to stumble to the hard and merciless cobble road. Charselin climbed to a balcony with at least 12 archers by his side and spoke towards the gate.

"We will give you what you have came for! He is yours! Now leave our city at peace. The Empire does not wish war but will have it if need be! These are our terms!"

The tan, sandstone archway did show brightly than ever before to Martin's remembrance. The sun shown through from the high left, perfectly shadowing the tunnel within in it's arches. Shadowed, until the horsed rider slowly trotted out. It was not Dagmora. It was not Varrenfell. Nor Morrowind. It was human... or at least what remained of it. From head to toe, it was dressed in black with a red strip hanging down to the ground, from it's waist. 20 assassin's trudged behind him, waiting.

It dismounted. He dismounted and walked over gracefully, to the fallen emperor. Kneeling, he touched Martin's shoulder and waited, then whispered. ".. The decisions to come will be difficult... but they will have to do. Forgive me." He then stood and turned to view the hidden crowds of people.

"Is this what you all desire? Do you wish to see this man killed?" He yelled out earnestly. The crowd began to reappear.

"Has he not betrayed you?"

Martin looked up from the ground in shock. The voice, was the voice of his old friend. The Nomad. The Nighlith. And his time of betrayal had come.

"Well? Does he not deserve to have a traitor's death?" The tall black robed figure, with his heavy metallic foot, swiftly and mercilessly kicked Martin at least 6 ft away. An amazing strength.

A voice came from a corner. "He has betrayed us! He is not our Emperor!"

The Nomad gave a cruel smile. "Yes... It would appear true now wouldn't it. So.." he began to pace towards Martin.

"Tell me stranger!" he yelled. "Do you always eat what is fed to you?"

"What do you want devil?" someone in the growing crowd yelled.

He continued to pace.

"I will take one of these men with me today. One of them, back to the core of Oblivion. Where they will be tortured, beaten, and humiliated for the rest of the existence of Akatosh. I will claim their life. And you will decide."

"The Emperor! Kill the Emperor!"

"Do not be so harsh in judgment!..." His eyes blazed, fiercely and his mouth cloth dropped.

" Would you listen to whatever the man on the roof may tell you? The one who hides behind arrows and beats YOUR savior, then lies to you? The Deadra do not wish for your demise! We must coincide equally so that we both exist!... yet this man will have you believe that the one who fed you, clothed you, gave you HOPE when the Gates to Oblivion were opened at your very doors and in your farms; you would kill the one who does only good?" He gestured to Martin. "Or would you have a cowardice snake guide you?"

The crowd muttered in a low rumble as he paced close once again to Martin. Looking down at him with the tilt of the head, smiling. Manically. There was still a fondest deep within his eyes. red eyes. A recognition.

"Prove it!" a voice yelled."

"Pardon?"

"Prove it. Prove what you say is true. We do not trust demons."

"Would you trust a man?.. For that was once what I was."

"Witchery!"

He pulled his hood down to all of them, where his long brown hair reflected the sun so well. And then he became healthy. The sun changed him in such a way that he looked the same way he was on the day Martin had met him. A man.

"I did not give my life for this Empire. I do not deny it, and I do not boast. But I can say with pride, that I gave my life for Martin Septium when the council struck a deal with the those who would hurt you. Those who would provoke war with their archers and knights." He gestured to those on the roof. The crowd was silent. Listening.

"Martin found a way though. To shut those gates when the cracks in the temple were fresh and your skies were red. And something I would have you all hear: Martin died that day. You all saw it. You all know what he did." He gestured then to the guards surrounding the block.

"Yet our memories fade don't they? The skies never seem so red than on that day.. nor the panic and the screams that ran through these walls on that day. You there, I remember your face from that day. Tell them! Tell them what you saw! What he did!"

The imperial guard seemed slightly taken aback. He swallowed and then spoke up, shakably. "I... We tried to stop the invasion from spreading to the other districts... there were so few of us left in the inner walls... he was there ... next to me. As were you." he said. "It was you and the Emperor who led us through.. to the temple... there... there were so many... we couldn't hold them back... Martin...he...raised Akotosh. To save us...and he ..disappeared after that."

"Thank you."

"I bargained with the deadra to bring him back here... to an Empire with no Emperor. Where you all would be ruled by a council of men who would serve only themselves and not the people. Those who would exploit and conquer without consideration. He is the same man he has always been, since the day he was born. He has served you heroically in the worst of times when others will cower in their towers as cities burn all around them."

He stopped and then pushed on after hearing a low murmur.

"Now you ask me, where is my proof and I will give it to you." He waved to a fellow assassin who brought him documents, both folded and flat in every size.

"The Dark Brotherhood stand before you as well today, in front of you. Though we are secretive, we are not liars. I have here in my fist, over 14 documents that we have received to kill Martin Septium. All have been commissioned by that lovely man you see up on that roof. Do not let me blindly pass these in front of your eyes. They will be available for all of you to see, no matter what your decision may be. Boy... come here."

A small child of around 10 slowly, hesitantly, approached him. He was terrified.

The Nomad simply knelt and gently handed him the letters. "Take these back to your parents and make sure they are seen." The boy quickly nodded and ran back to his parents, but not before getting a good look at the tall man in front of him.

"If you do not believe what is written, there are witnesses as well. To think that my arrival is but a trickery and some sort of a game would be sadistic and foolish. This is an overwhelmingly serious matter we are in, and I have come to mediate it. I have brought force only to gain an audience and if needed, defend you all from...well unwanted occurrences. But...

Observe the situation we are in. My speech is nearly over and this day is coming to an end. I am tired. Who would you choose? The man guarded by the pointed arrows at my heart, or the one who lays before you, naked? Think carefully and what you have gone through. Think and do not judge unjustly, for it will return and drag you down to Oblivion where we will meet once more."

He raised his arms in both directions.

"who?"

The crowd was silent for a moment. Then the whispers came.

The Nomad paced over to Martin who was holding his ribs in pain. His view shifted to the men in the tower. Charselin spoke swiftly.

"You would trust this Demon? I have served Cyrodil for nearly 2 decades! I have supported you all when there was no one!"

"But yourself!" the Nomad yelled.

"I cannot have my own people driven back from progressing! I will not let a demon dictate Cyrodil! Nor the product of one!"

Their bows were stretched. And as they did, the Nomad snarled. He saw what they were aiming for. His own archers were about to raise their bows, but he raised a hand in response. They paused. The arrows flew through the air towards Martin.

--


End file.
